"Is sugar poisonous?" Nobunaga asked.

"If it isn't a poison, it certainly isn't healthful, either," Soshitsu answered. "Foods from the barbarian lands are thick and rich, while our Japanese foods have a blander taste. These cakes are much sweeter than our dried persimmons or rice cakes. Once you get a taste for sugar, you won't be satisfied with our own sweets anymore."

"Has a lot of this sugar already been imported to Kyushu?"

"Not so much. With an exchange rate of one weight of sugar to one weight of gold, we don't get much of a percentage. I'm thinking of shipping in some sugar plants and try­ing to transplant them to a warm region, but, like tobacco, I'm wondering if sugar would be a good thing to popularize in Japan."

"That's not like you," Nobunaga laughed. "Don't be so narrow-minded. It doesn't make any difference whether they're good or bad. Just lump them together and ship them in, and they'll bring a special quality to the culture. All sorts of things are finally being brought in from the western and southern seas right now. Their penetration to the east is unstoppable."

"I applaud your tolerance, my lord, and adopting that way of thinking would cer­tainly be a great help to our business, of course. But I wonder if we should leave it at that."

"We should, without a doubt. Bring in everything new as fast as you can."

"As you wish, my lord."

"Or failing that, chew it up well and then spit it out," Nobunaga added.

"Spit it out?"

"Chew it well, take what's of good quality into your stomach, and spit out the dregs. If the warriors, farmers, artisans, and merchants of Japan understand that principle, there'll be no problems in importing anything."

"No, that's no good." Soshitsu waved his hand emphatically. He was against this altogether, and was quick to give his opinions about the direction of the government. "You, my lord, the ruler of this country, may feel that way, but recently I've seen some worri­some signs, and I, for one, cannot agree with you."

"What do you mean?"

"The spread of false religions."

"You mean the missionaries? Have the Buddhists been making demands on you, too, Soshitsu?"

"You're being a bit too disdainful. This problem is truly distressing the nation."

Soshitsu went on to tell the story of the child who had fallen into the moat a few hours before, and how the self-sacrifice of the missionaries had impressed the people.

"In less than ten years, thousands have abandoned the altars of their ancestors and converted to Christianity. And this has occurred not only in Omura and Nagasaki but also throughout Kyushu, in remote areas of Shikoku, and even in Osaka, Kyoto, and Sakai. Your Lordship has just said that it would be all right if whatever we brought into Japan were chewed up and spit out, but religion is unique and probably cannot be treated in that way. No matter how much the people chew, their souls are going to be drawn into this heresy, and they won't give it up, even if you crucify them or cut off their heads."

Nobunaga was completely silent. His expression indicated that this was a problem of such gravity that it could not be discussed in a few words. He had burned Mount Hiei and, using a violence that had been beyond the reach of former rulers, had brought Buddhism to its knees. He had dealt with the clergy with a rain of hellfire and swords, but he himself knew better than anyone else that, wherever he went, the resentment toward him was unlikely to dissipate.

On the other hand, he had permitted the missionaries to build a church, he had publicly recognized their work, and from time to time he had even invited them to banquets.  The Buddhist monks raised a hue and cry about which of them Nobunaga considered to the foreigners—the Christians or themselves.

Nobunaga loathed explanations. He hated to hear something spelled out, but he respected a direct intuition between people. In fact, he was elated by it.

"Sotan." He now turned to converse with the other man. "What do you think about this? You're young, so I imagine that you naturally see things differently from Soshitsu."

Sotan looked cautiously at the lamp for a moment, but then answered quite clearly.

"I agree with you, my lord, that it would be all right to chew this matter of foreign religion well and then spit it out."

Nobunaga turned and looked at Soshitsu like someone who had just had his opinions confirmed. "Don't worry. You have to grasp the larger scheme of things. Centuries ago, Lord Michizane advocated the combination of the Japanese soul and Chinese know-how. Whether we import the customs of China or artifacts from the West, the colors of fall and the cherry blossoms of spring do not change. Rather, when rain falls on a pond, the water is renewed. You're making the mistake of gauging the ocean by the moat of the Honno Temple. Isn't that true, Soshitsu?"

"Yes, my lord, one must measure a moat by a moat's standards."

"And the same with culture from overseas."

"As I get old, even I have become like a frog in a well," Soshitsu said.

"I think you're more like a whale."

"Yes," Soshitsu agreed, "but a whale with narrow vision."

"Hey, bring some water," Nobunaga ordered the page sleeping behind him. He was not yet finished with the evening. Though they had not eaten or drunk for a while, the excitement of the conversation had continued on its own.

"Father," Nobutada said, sliding over to Nobunaga. "It's gotten awfully late. I'm going take my leave."

"Stay a little longer," Nobunaga said, restraining him more than he would have ordinarily. "You're just over at Nijo, aren't you? Even if it's late, you're almost right next door, Nagato lives right in front of the gate, and our guests from Hakata are hardly going back there tonight."

"No, just me…" Soshitsu looked as though he were getting ready to leave. "I have an appointment tomorrow morning."

"Then the only person staying is Sotan?"

"I'll be on night duty. There's work left for me, tidying up the tearoom."

"I see. You won't stay for my sake. You're carrying that expensive tea equipment with

you, and you must stay here to guard it tonight."

"I won't contradict you, my lord."

"Speak frankly," Nobunaga laughed. Suddenly looking behind him, he stared at the hanging scroll on the wall. "Mu Ch'i is very good, isn't he? You rarely see such skill nowadays. I've heard that Sotan owns a painting by Mu Ch'i called Ships Returning from Far­away Ports. I wonder if anyone is worthy of owning such a famous painting?"

Sotan suddenly laughed out loud, as though Nobunaga were not there.

"What are you laughing about, Sotan?"

Sotan looked at the people around him. "Lord Nobunaga would like to take my Mu Ch'i scroll with one of his sly stratagems: 'Is anyone worthy of owning such a painting? This is like sending agent-provocateurs into an enemy province. You'd better look out for your precious oak tea caddy!" And he could not stop laughing.

He had hit dead center. For some time, Nobunaga had been after the painting. Both the tea caddy and the painting were family heirlooms, however, and for that reason even Nobunaga had not been able to speak his own mind freely.

But now the owner had been kind enough to bring up the matter, and Nobunaga thought that that was the same as promising to give him the object. Certainly, after laugh­ing at him so audaciously, Sotan would not have the heart not to give him what he wanted.

So Nobunaga laughed too. "Well, you don't miss anything, Sotan. When you get to my age, a man can become a true disciple of tea." He was revealing the truth in a jest.

Soshitsu rejoined, "In a few days I'll be meeting Master Sokyu from Sakai. Let's deliberate together then about where the painting belongs. Of course, it would have been best to ask Mu Ch'i himself."